Harmony (57 page)

Reede Chamberlaine stretched discreetly and sent a subordinate backstage for coffee. “Excellent work, Howard. Let’s talk later about what your publicity department has planned for Mali.”

Howie looked uncomfortable. “You know, Reede, he’s not going to like it.”

“Ah yes, the company identity number.”

“Pretty sure he means it.”

Chamberlaine’s laugh was like the rustle of silk. “He thinks so now. But all great actors have great egos. The humble act never lasts once they’ve seen the possibilities. I’ll buy the three of us a little chat over an expensive dinner. Give him a taste of things to come. Always works. Trust me.”

I didn’t, not for an instant. But I was only eavesdropping, and after all, if Howie knew Mali’s father was the Rock, he’d listen to Chamberlaine with a more skeptical ear.

Onstage, the assistant stage manager stalked around checking the preset. As she crossed down center, I started. Mali had made me forget even that. As the lights dimmed for Act Two, Cris hauled Songh out of the seat beside me and sat down.

“Did Sam have time to… ?”

He nodded. “But I can’t find Peter anywhere. Shop says he went home. Looks quiet underneath, though.”

“How far can the remote signal carry?”

He chuckled evilly. “How’re you going to manage without me if you don’t learn these things?”

“Cris…”

“He won’t be around either, remember.”

My jaw tightened involuntarily. “How far?”

“No more than fifty meters. Otherwise we might trigger a few surprises next door in
Crossroads
. He’s got to be somewhere inside this theatre.”

I surrendered the knots in my stomach to Mali as soon as he reappeared onstage. He was a stealer of souls. He imprisoned you behind his eyes while he labored to impress the Planter with the mystery and rightness of the ancient magic.

I had a new insight into the play that afternoon. Our tragic hero’s real crime was not the revealing of clan secrets without consulting his clansmen. The Ancestors might have forgiven that. What they could not forgive was his innocence: he believed that a rapprochement between opposites could be reached, even though the Planter, as the one in power, had no need for rapprochement, no need to see any version of reality but his own. To be innocent and well-meaning in such a world, the play was saying, is to be fatally vulnerable.

No wonder Sam gave my own innocence a hard time.

Meanwhile, Two, five rushed toward us. The outraged elders gathered in the ritual clearing and fell prostrate before the materialized image of the Ancestor. The shimmering green of the Matta floated out of the darkness like water filling a void. Gold symbols flickered and danced. Sudden double vision dizzied me as I picked out the tale painted by an apprentice scenographer in a place very far away from that jungle glade. I was Mali and I was myself. I watched with growing dread as he gathered the Matta around him. Cris and Songh tensed forward at the same frightened angle.

The elders’ chant crescendoed, the ghostly ancestor raised his arms. A soundless impact shook the air, like a giant bubble bursting. Faint diamonds sparkled in the water-green of the Matta. I blinked and Mali was gone.

“My god,” Cris whispered. “It worked. It fucking worked!”

“And,” I murmured joyously, “that’s all it did!”

There were snuffles behind me in the silence, and solemn sighs further down the row. When the grieving widow received the Planter’s funeral gift of a basket of the fruit she had picked herself, the sighs turned to weeping. The standing ovation began in the final blackout and lasted through the swirling, triumphant curtain call, until one of the black-robed figures danced forward and raised a palm.

The silence was immediate.

“Dear friends in Harmony,” Omea’s voice sang out from beneath her hood and veil, “this performance is given in memory of Jane.” She whipped her arms down and around. Nine pairs of arms followed. Ten trailing black robes became a glowing sky blue. A flight of white doves burst from the catwalks overhead and swooped low as the company made a final deep ensemble bow.

Applause broke again, a cascade of cheers and stamping. Here and there a
Crossroads
company member sat frowning in his seat, but many rose to their feet with everyone else. Out of the sober telling of a tale of death came a cathartic reaffirmation of life. The Eye sent their apprentice audience out of the theatre to face the evening’s uncertainties with energy and resolve.

I didn’t wait to report to Micah. I ran straight backstage, into a tumult of relief and celebration. I’ve never been the sort who’ll hug and kiss just anybody, but it was in the air back there, and even Te-Cucularit and the girls got their share from me. The office staff, stage managers, apprentices from
Crossroads
, mobbed the dressing rooms. Omea reigned as queen of the corridor, with Ule as her jester, gathering compliments like flowers. The crowd thickened outside the room Mali shared with Moussa and Pen. Everyone knocked and called for him, but one of the dressers had been posted to keep people out. I fought my way around the corner to Sam’s room and there was Mali, slumped on a stool while Sam’s strong hands worked on his neck and shoulders.

“Thank god we made it through without…” I shut the door behind me.

“He’s going to need a full-time masseur before he’s finished with this place,” Sam remarked.

Mali grunted and closed his eyes.

Sam pummeled him harder. “And this lovely young woman wants to know why I don’t just go down there and rip the whole thing out instead of putting you through this.”

“The show,” I said breathlessly, “was wonderful.”

“We knew it would work,” said Sam.

“No, we didn’t.” Mali lifted his head like a tired prince to acknowledge the awe and admiration I could not keep out of my eyes. Mali knew but would never say that unlike the Eye’s earlier ensemble work, this piece was his and his alone. I barely recalled anyone else’s performance. Even Sam’s.

The door cracked open. “He’s in here, for chrissakes!”

Howie burst in. “Inspired, gentlemen, truly inspired! Why are you hiding out in here? It’s everything we hoped it would be!”

“Oh good.” Sam gave Mali a final slap. “Does that mean we can go home now?”

Howie laughed boisterously. “Only after you’ve finished taking the Town by storm!”

Liz knocked at the open door and handed in a creamy stiff envelope. “For Mali. And Reede would like a word with the company in the greenroom as soon as they’re out of makeup.”

“Sure, sure. Little party he has planned.” Howie passed the envelope along.

Mali stripped it open, glanced at the few lines of elegant scrawl, and tossed it aside. To Liz he murmured, “Send him my apologies. I already have dinner plans.”

Howie rubbed his hands. “Should have seen old Reede afterward. He was knocked out. Even looked a little pale, the limey bastard!”

Reede Chamberlaine was always a little pale, I thought. His pallor had that cultivated look. I imagined him carefully bleaching his skin so it wouldn’t clash with the icy silver of his hair.

He was not in the greenroom when the company straggled in from their showers, still dressing and celebrating. One of the sycophants kept watch by the door until Tua trotted in, tying the sash of her sky-blue kimono. “Oh, am I the last?”

The sycophant simpered and leaned out the doorway. Reede strolled in, gray-suited and smiling.

“I shan’t keep you long, my dears. You’ve worked hard and I know you’re eager for a break.” He paused faintly to offer Mali a sly glance of complicity. “To that end, we’ve arranged for a lovely dinner to be brought in, so you can relax between shows—we’ve a real, grown-up audience tonight, remember.” Two of his assistants came in behind him bearing champagne and glasses. I recognized the silver trays from
Three Sisters
. Reede mimed delighted surprise. “Ah! This should get you through while I bore you with a few necessary matters. I’m back to London right after, you know. Time to get the tour machinery rolling.”

The acolytes poured and passed glittering crystal alive with tiny bubbles. Reede did a room scan that rivaled Sam for subtlety and efficiency. “Before we start, perhaps it’d be best if anyone not directly associated with this project gave us a few moments to ourselves.”

It was the cast and the stage managers only. And Howie. Typical of Reede Chamberlaine not to think of inviting the designers to a company meeting. Being the only apprentice in the room, I gathered myself to leave. “Don’t you dare,” Sam murmured, easing me back against the wall beside him. Chamberlaine smiled his smooth, frosty smile. “All in the family, then? Well, first let me say I was enormously impressed this afternoon. This is a remarkable piece of work, and it proves without a doubt that your company can look forward to much expanded horizons.”

He accepted a glass of champagne and sipped at it delicately. One of the male acolytes brought an old wooden chair from against the wall. An uncomfortable choice, but its stiff back and higher seat allowed Reede to sit and still look down on the rest of us. Omea and Tuli sank into the cushiony embrace of a loveseat. Mali lounged in a deep armchair, his long legs stretched out in front of him as if he was ready to doze off any minute. The others sprawled on the carpet or leaned against the padded furniture. Ule lay flat on his back at Omea’s feet. Howie commandeered the arm of Mali’s chair, beaming at them all like a proud father.

“Here’s the question.” Reede held his glass out to the side and an assistant whisked it away. “Whether
The Gift
, marvelous as it is, is appropriate for our tour as I’ve laid it out. It might be advisable to wait before adding this piece to your regular repertory.”

“Wait for what?” Pen muttered.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Howie. He smiled down at the top of Mali’s head.

Chamberlaine nodded as if Howie had agreed with him. “There’s another possibility, and that’s to rethink the way we sell the piece. Now as I’ve said many times, I’m not in this one for the money, but the tour will be expensive and I’ll need full houses every night just to pay back my investors. A new play like this, intellectual in content: it’s a very hard sell.”

“Easier with the reviews you’ll be getting here,” Howie noted.

“Very true, and I could write those reviews word for word after this afternoon. Which is exactly what encourages me to suggest a further break from the Eye’s past traditions, that you let my agency sell
The Gift
on the basis of Mali’s virtuoso performance.”

“No,” said Mali from the depths of his chair.

“Hear me out, now.”

“No.”

Reede shrugged gracefully. “We could have discussed this a little more privately, my dear. It’s nothing very much, you know, just the usual biographical profiles, exclusive interviews, photo essays. Not so painful, given the benefit to the company in the long run.”

“You do it for me, you can do it for all of us.”

“Tut. Are we going to be stubborn about this?”

Mali glanced at Omea. “Round two.”

“No way, man,” said Pen.

Omea hushed him. “We don’t think singling one of us out will benefit the company.”

“But I know it will benefit the tour, and that will benefit the company. Omea, this is your premier first-class engagement. The only fiscally responsible choice is to sell Mali for all we’re worth. Either that or leave this piece out of the repertory.”

“Oh, Reede,” Omea pouted prettily, “must we be fiscally responsible?”

“Yes, my darling. That we must always be.” Chamberlaine sat back and crossed his legs. “Well, what do we think?”

Howie stirred. “Reede, I don’t get it. You read the script, you knew what it was, you were excited by the possibilities. The whole point was to add something controversial to contemporize their traditional repertoire.”

A fresh glass of champagne appeared at Chamberlaine’s elbow. He shook his head, then braced his arms elegantly on his knee. “Howard, you insisted on artistic control and I gave it to you. We both knew the risk. Personally I admire this work, but it would be easier to sell if you’d made a few different choices. Why, for instance, in a play about magic, have you ignored the potential for glorious special effects? Why waste our master of romantic invention Micah Cervantes on a production style that’s so somber and plain? And that funereal curtain call! The people like their spectacle, Howard!”

“The people, Reede, just gave us a standing ovation!”

“A standing ovation from a young and especially sympathetic audience.” He bent a regretful eye on Omea. “Getting yourselves embroiled in local politics was perhaps not the wisest thing to do, my dear.”

“The local politics embroiled us,” Omea replied. “We came here to do our work in peace.”

“Besides,” added Sam, “our politics are none of your business.”

“Ah, but my good magician, business is precisely what they are. Bad business. Oh yes, I know what’s been going on here. You think people are going to be eager to invite into their domes the architects of Harmony’s peasant rebellion and then sit still for a lecture on their own greed and inhumanity?”

Mali unfolded slowly from his armchair. Chamberlaine was a tall man, but when Mali drew himself up to his most regal bearing, the man in gray had to crane his neck or take a step backward. Chamberlaine did both and seemed somewhat less elegant in retreat.

“A judicious producer wouldn’t mention what has happened here,” Mali said. “A courageous producer would not care. A visionary one would put it to profitable use.”

“Oh, excellent!” Reede offered his smile to the others. “See how marvelous he is? What presence! You’re no stripling youth, Mali, but you’ve still a major career ahead of you if you play it my way.”

“You can
make
me, is that it, Reede?”

“It would be a pleasure.”

“And the rest?”

“Will bask, and profit, in your glory.”

Mali stared at him coldly, then turned away.

“Whoa, whoa, let’s back up here,” begged Howie. “This problem can be resolved.”

Mali stalked past him. “Then resolve it.”

Howie said, “Reede, why don’t you and I step up to my office so we can talk this out?”